


sugar pink liquor, liquor lips

by h_lovely



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Birthday Fluff, Birthday Presents, Birthday Smut, Happy Birthday Mattsun & Yahaba!, Lingerie, Lots of kissing, M/M, Teasing, iwaoi if you squint, kyouhaba if you squint, yes those kinds of presents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 18:42:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10039076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h_lovely/pseuds/h_lovely
Summary: His lips still taste like sugar and liquor; they’re rosy and plush as they fit softly against Matsukawa’s own.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Wishing a very happy birthday to the most fabulous birthday twins I could ask for, Mattsun and Yahaba.
> 
> [theme music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BCffJMfGCNw)  
> 

The first of March is infamous.

Not just in that he shares his birthday with Yahaba or that the entirety of Seijou, old teammates and best friends, always manage to go all out and overindulge in the celebration. He’ll admit, that part is pretty fucking fantastic.

But, in the end, it’s Hanamaki that always manages to give Matsukawa the _best_ birthday celebration.

Matsukawa is three (maybe four?) drinks in and already he’s got a laundry list of debauched ideas floating around in his head of just what Hanamaki might be planning this year. Or maybe he’ll throw him for a loop and it’ll be sweet and tender with rose petals and all that romantic-conformist bullshit they generally reserve just for each other behind closed doors.

But the fiery look Hanamaki throws him over the rim of his glass says otherwise.

“Mattsun!” comes a squawk in his ear, startling Matsukawa into a coughing fit that thankfully covers for the flush invading his neck and ears.

He turns to meet Oikawa’s round eyes, tipsy and glazed with amusement. “What?” he huffs back, but it comes out rather weaker than he’d hoped.

“How close were you to being a leap year baby?” Oikawa asks with an insane amount of exuberance.

“A leap year baby?” His mind isn’t quite connecting the dots and Matsukawa isn’t sure if it’s from the alcohol or the familiar hand that’s suddenly creeping up his thigh under the table.

From somewhere next to them Iwaizumi leans into the conversation, entirely too-sober considering he’s been matching his boyfriend drink-for-drink all night. “What time of day were you born?” he says, like that explains everything perfectly.

Matsukawa frowns in thought and nearly chokes out his answer when wandering fingers move to toy with his belt. “Morning, I think.”

“Ha!” Oikawa pushes away from Matsukawa’s shoulder to skip over to the adjacent table littered with shot glasses, half-drunk beers, and half-drunk ex-teammates. “We win!”

It’s surprisingly Kyoutani who looks the most put-out by this news, dark eyes sinking even further into his skull with his scowl. Watari’s cheeks are warm and pink and he can’t stop giggling at Kyoutani’s aggressive pouting, while Kunimi tries to distract Kindaichi and himself (rather unsuccessfully) from these ridiculous antics with something on his phone.

“These idiots made a bet to see which one of us was closer to being a leap year baby—” Yahaba (slurring only the slightest) explains when he catches Matsukawa’s blank stare. “—which is quite possibly the stupidest bet because neither one of us was even born in a leap year!”

“Doesn’t matter!” Oikawa refutes, raising a sloshing glass in the air. “Mattsun was born before you so Iwa-chan and I win!”

At this it’s Yahaba’s turn to pout and Matsukawa can’t stop a chuckle rumbling from his throat. Iwaizumi grabs for Oikawa’s precarious beverage with a surprisingly affectionate flick to the man’s nose and Kyoutani curls a comforting arm around Yahaba’s waist when he thinks nobody is paying attention.

The interactions are cute and satisfying to watch through a haze of alcohol and nostalgia until Matsukawa’s mind is brought back down to reality with a hand pawing firmly at his crotch. Nearly biting his own tongue off he turns with a swallowed groan to meet half-lidded eyes and a knowing smirk.

“Hiro,” Matsukawa greets, keeping his voice as even as possible.

“Issei,” Hanamaki mimics, his own voice even deeper than usual.

From this angle, Hanamaki leaning into him with drunken muscles but purposeful movements, he catches the sharp ridges of Hanamki’s collarbones on prominent display beneath the wide-dipping collar of his loose fitting t-shirt. For a second, Matsukawa has the urge to lean down and kiss bruises along the milky flesh there, but then he remembers where they are and what they’re doing and who they’re with and reigns himself in.

Hanamaki, however, does not.

He pushes in further to invade Matsukawa’s space, still trailing teasing pressure against his thighs and clothed cock, and that’s when Matsukawa notices something different. Bringing a hand up to steady Hanamaki’s approach his fingers notice a firm ridge against the man’s side beneath his shirt. It’s unfamiliar and curious and before Hanamaki can manage to pull away Matsukawa presses slightly harder and is rewarded with a sensation that is decidedly _not_ flesh.

“Hiro, are you—” Matsukawa whispers, not able to finish the thought as Hanamaki grinds into him to fit their lips together in a crooked, sloppy open-lipped kiss.

There comes a few predictable cat-calls and whistles from the peanut-gallery, but Matsukawa barely registers them when Hanamaki’s tongue dips into his mouth. Matsukawa tightens his grip on the other’s side and he can feel the undergarment more properly now, digging into his palm, and he groans unashamedly against Hanamaki’s lips when he imagines himself stripping that oversized shirt and too-tight jeans away to reveal what’s been hiding beneath all night long.

When they pull apart Matsukawa observes the blush high on Hanamaki’s cheeks, but otherwise sees no sign of the uncertainty that’s coursing through his own head. Hanamaki seems, if anything, only mildly embarrassed about the discovery and that in itself turns Matsukawa’s half-hard erection into something nearing unbearable.

“Get a room,” Oikawa hisses through a laugh even as his arms move to wrap possessively around broad shoulders and Iwaizumi’s lips and teeth burry themselves in the man’s long neck.

Matsukawa rolls his eyes habitually and Hanamaki snorts. Across from them Yahaba has busied himself with the task of wiggling his way into Kyoutani’s lap, blatantly ignoring the other’s stunted protests and tomato-red face.

“It’s my _birthday_ , Kentarou,” Yahaba whines, wiggling in his position extra on purpose now. “You have to be nice to me!”

He sounds so much like Oikawa in this moment that even Iwaizumi gets distracted enough to pull away from a very pretty hickey to observe the amusing display. Oikawa gives his own whine at the loss and Matsukawa can’t hold back his laughter any longer.

“Hear that?” Matsukawa turns to burrow his smirk into Hanamaki’s cheek, shoulders still shaking with amusement and intoxication. “It’s my birthday, you have to be nice to me.”

As if to remind him, Hanamaki grabs Matsukawa’s wrist to press his hand against his lower back with a cursory smile. “I plan on being very nice to you, Issei,” he purrs.

Matsukawa curls his fingers against the eyelets and hooks he can feel tracing their way up Hanamaki’s spine and shudders. In the next instant he reaches for his glass and downs the rest of whatever cocktail he’d been nursing in one go.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he grits out. “So I can unwrap my birthday present.”

Of course, in the end, it takes them nearly an hour to make it back home.

Oikawa has to make a show of properly wishing he and Yahaba a happy birthday with a round of sugary-sweet Buttery Nipple shots and his terrible singing voice, _cha cha cha’s_ and all. Everyone seems inordinately amused by this, including Hanamaki, and Matsukawa is forced to furtively adjust himself in his pants when Kunimi starts listing off every sort of shot you could ever imagine from his glowing phone screen.

Yahaba practically begs Kyoutani to do a Mad Dog shot with him, not bothering to even care what alcohol is involved while Oikawa cries laughing while offering Hanamaki a Red Headed Slut. Matsukawa draws the line when someone tries to order him a Blow-Job shot and Hanamaki finally calms down enough to assist him in making their untimely escape.

In the lonely train car carrying them back to their apartment they sit too close together and Matsukawa can’t stop his wandering fingers from playing against the hem of Hanamaki’s shirt.

Hanamaki turns to him with a grin. “Patience is a virtue,” he says, words coming out much steadier than they aught to have with the amount of alcohol Matsukawa watched him consume not long ago.

In retaliation Matsukawa swallows and inches his fingers up further until he finds a patch of soft skin and an edge of leather that makes him groan. “I’ve been patient all night, haven’t I?” he murmurs into Hanamaki’s neck.

Hanamaki’s voice falters as lips tickle kisses up his exposed skin. “You have,” he gasps, sounding almost strained and Matsukawa wonders just how constricting the undergarment actually is. “But it would really ruin the surprise if we got arrested for public indecency, Issei.”

Rationally Matsukawa has to agree with him, but he still doesn’t let go, holding Hanamaki in place against his side to continue mouthing at his neck and the shell of his ear. When the train lurches to a stop he’s got Hanamaki just as hard as he’d been sitting in that bar surrounded by their drunk and disorderly friends; he can’t help but feel a puff of pride for his accomplishments.

The walk to their apartment from the station is thankfully short and Hanamaki only manages to pin Matsukawa to one wall for a few seconds of retribution kisses before they make it up the stairs, fumbling for keys, still tangled together.

When they get the door open Matsukawa has the sudden blinding urge to just push Hanamaki up against it and strip him right then and there writhing against the wood. Instead Hanamaki grabs him by the wrist and tugs him straight towards the bedroom, which Matsukawa can’t really complain about because the angle gives him a great view of Hanamaki’s ass in those skin-tight jeans.

 When they reach the foot of the bed Hanamaki turns abruptly to cup hands at Matsukawa’s jaw and lean up on his toes for a gentle kiss. His lips still taste like sugar and liquor; they’re rosy and plush as they fit softly against Matsukawa’s own.

“You can unwrap your present now, Issei,” he whispers against Matsukawa’s mouth and suddenly their picture of sweet innocence is entirely an afterthought.

Matsukawa thrusts his hands beneath the hem of Hanamaki’s shirt to grab at his slightly cinched waist, fingers running along the stitched bones and delicate fabric encasing familiar freckled skin and lean muscles. He slots his leg between Hanamaki’s thighs and on instinct the other grinds against him. When Matsukawa searches out Hanamaki’s features he finds his eyes closed and mouth parted, still shining wet from their earlier kiss.

Matsukawa can’t bite back his groan at the sight and clutches Hanamaki’s shirt in both hands to pull it up and over his head in one rushed motion. When the garment is thrown to the floor he can see a faint blush across Hanamaki’s chest, the portion not hidden by bubblegum pink lace and black leather.

Matsukawa’s lips are drawn forward, brushing against the flushed skin stretched against his collar bones and down further to lav at nipples already erect balanced above the corset’s leather piping.

“Shit,” Hanamaki hisses, his seductive mask falling away as Matsukawa’s hands trail against his sides all the way down to methodically peel his jeans from his hips and thighs.

Matsukawa hums as his lips lean up again to capture Hanamaki’s mouth. His fingers play against the pre-cum slick lace clinging to Hanamaki’s erection. “Good choice,” he murmurs.

Hanamaki gasps out a laugh when Matsukawa moves to grope at the plush of his ass through the taught fabric. “Glad you approve. Best birthday ever?”

“So far,” Matsukawa nods his approval. “Each year just seems to get better and better.”

“Can you imagine how fuckin’ incredible your fiftieth birthday will be?”

Matsukawa snorts, finally releasing Hanamaki and fixing him with a thick, raised brow. “Think we’ll still have it in us by then?”

Hanamaki reaches out to pinch Matsukawa’s still clothed hip. “Hell yeah,” he says and before Matsukawa can react Hanamaki rearranges their positions, pushing Matsukawa’s broad frame back onto the bed with a bounce.

Matsukawa’s hands naturally slide up Hanamaki’s thick thighs as the other moves to straddle him, showing off those pink lace panties with pleasure. The corset gives a bit with his movements, but for the most part forces the man’s spine straight and Matsukawa can’t keep his eyes off the extra curve it gives Hanamaki’s figure.

Hanamaki sits back to grind against Matsukawa’s erection through his pants and when the action tugs a deep groan from Matsukawa’s throat Hanamaki licks his lips around a predatory grin.

Matsukawa isn’t entirely certain anymore just who’s present this is exactly.

But when Hanamaki arches his back to hover those slick lips over Matsukawa’s own, he doesn’t really give a fuck anymore either.

“Happy birthday, Issei,” Hanamaki whispers before diving in for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Short, sweet, and a little self-indulgent. (Sue me, it's my birthday.)
> 
> (Also, did you know how many fictional characters share March 1st as their birthday? I had no clue...happy bday Matsukawa Issei, Yahaba Shigeru, Yuri Plisetsky, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Ron Weasley, and anyone else I may have forgotten!)


End file.
